City of Angels
by deadlybeautiful
Summary: A story of a girl who is Jackie and Macy, of lost faith, found suspicions, gritty beauty, street fighting, cigarettes and the way the world might just be. Gazzy/OC-ish
1. Chapter 1

**A musing or something I came up with at dawn one day. Heavy swearing. If I get good reactions I might add another chapter -an ending.  
**

**I don't own Maximum Ride. And it's a damn shame. **

* * *

Macy is seven years old, a tender age where she has yet to understand the adult world in the slightest -she doesn't know about what her father talks about at diner just makes affirmative noises when he smiles and frowns when she sees his jaw down. Macy has yet to loose her child-like perception on the world which perhaps the effect of her mother dragging her to church every Sunday, having her attending bible school religiously every Wednesday with her friends, and sheltering her from the realities and horrors of the world.

So really it isn't much of a surprise when she's playing at the park one day -on the monkey bars, because the monkey bars are where all the older kids hang out and Macy's ready to be _older_ already- and sees birds that she immediately thinks of angels. Nope, no surprise at all.

What _is_ a surprise is when the birds land and turn out not to be birds at all but actual angels.

Angels. Macy's mother nearly has a heart attack.

One of them is the leader, a girl with tawny wings that are huge -Macy only knows the color because that's the color of her sister Alex's, cat. And there's a boy with dark wings that stares at her like Kyle -Alex's boyfriend- stares at her sister.

Macy knows -as any seven year old knows, without any doubt or thought- that they are absolutely in love with each other. But her brow crinkles up in confusion -because she didn't know that angels could love anyone but God.

There are others with the boy and the girl of course. Two boys and two girls. One girl -the blond one- looks about Macy's age.

Macy is ecstatic and she runs out to them, as fast as her little kid legs can run, despite her mother's yells to come back, but before she can reach them, they're running and jumping into the air -wings spread wide as they soar into the picturesque afternoon sky and disappear among the clouds.

Macy falls to her knees and cries -her fingers outstretched towards the heavens as if she could still touch the winged angels while silent tears stream down her face.

* * *

Macy is seventeen and has lost her innocence along the hard and rough road that is life. She has lost faith in 'The Father' and burned her bible with a cigarette. She is no longer on speaking terms with her mother -since that dirty slut slept with her manager, thus cheating on her father and causing the downfall of their marriage and the shattering of Macy's view of reality. She hardly sees daddy dearest- he'd much rather spend time with Jack Daniels than her, and she's content to let him drink himself into oblivion, as long as she doesn't have to sit around watch. Alex is off at college and Macy misses her sister -but only half the time. The other half she can't bear to think about her stripper sister or the niece she hardly gets to see.

Personally, she can't fucking wait until she's eighteen and can 'get the hell out of dodge' so to speak. She's tired of this shit hole town, and her shit hole life, and her boring job at the supermarket, and her jerk of a boyfriend, and drinking herself to death like her father, and smoking so much that she can't make it through the day without having a pack of cigarettes on her. She's absolutely terrified -in a way that makes her clutch her stomach at night, like she used to when her parents would yell at each other before the divorce- that she'll turn out just like her father, or her mother, or her sister.

She bites her nails to the quick and waits up at night like a kid on Christmas morning who can't fucking close their eyes because presents and happiness aplenty are just on the other side of sleep. Of course her eighteenth birthday is a week or so away, and she has work tomorrow but the anticipation that something better lay just down the road sent a thrill up her spine, made her spin in a way that made sleep an almost impossibility.

So when her asshole of a boyfriend comes in apologizing with a rose and a smile- a smile that made her say yes to that first date with him even when she had trust issues and no time for dating- she feels guilty, but pushes it down, down, down into a locked box where it will never see the light of day again -just like all the other things she doesn't want to deal with- and tells him that it's over. She cuts that string, the thing that will hold her back in this ugly place.

When she gets home that day dad is drunk, and angry -a terrible combination. He yells, and she has the same temper he has and soon they're screaming. The inevitable blow falls and she goes flying back into the wall, reflexive tears welling up in her eyes as she grabs her cheek and touches her split lip gingerly. She doesn't cry though -she hasn't cried since she was seven. Instead she cracks his bottle over his head -beer tonight, not whisky, so it wouldn't kill him, guess the bastard is luck in that respect- and pack all her clothes, ignoring high school t-shirts or anything that has her name on it.

She throws her suitcase in the trunk of her car, a box of her favourite books in the backseat along with her father's plasma screen -she'll sell it to a pawn shop tonight, it'll help her get on her feet nicely with the other money she'd saved up. She wouldn't have taken it if he hadn't have hit her, but now she sees it as just punishment -the bottle over the head had only been self-defence, he should be glad she hadn't done worse.

* * *

When she turns eighteen she buys her first legal pack of cigarettes, but it doesn't really matter -the guy hadn't even asked for ID with the amount of piercings on her face. He just assumed she was old enough and she was fine with that.

As she leaves the shitty gas station she notices a bulletin board covered with 'Have you seen this child?' papers. Among them she sees a picture of herself and snatches it down before strolling out -the guy behind the counter not even noticing. Macy looks at it and grimaces -it's an old picture, before she got her piercings- but she can still recognise herself and she _hates_ that, because she's not that girl anymore.

So she goes to a salon - a cheap one- and asks them to cut all of her brown hair off, and dye it blond. The woman who cuts her hair eyes her wearily, stressing how _beautiful _her chocolate curls are and 'honey, are you _sure_?' Oh yeah, she's sure.

After a half an hour most all of her hair is fallen to the ground and her head feels lighter, as does her chest. When she looks in the mirror, she hardly recognises herself. In fact, at first glance she looks like a boy with too full lips hidden behind her snake bites. She smiles to the woman who looks a little sad as she sweeps up the long tendrils of hair from the floor.

Macy tips her well.

When on the interstate headed to a new city to start a new life she decided that she couldn't possibly be Macy anymore. Macy is a little girl who grew up into a harsh world.

Macy decides not to be Macy anymore.

So, she becomes Jackie.

* * *

Jackie's been in Los Angeles -the City of Angels- for over two months and has dove into the world of the gritty beauty. Street fighting for money while working the late shift at a diner, and living in the crappiest apartment she's ever seen with the best view of downtown she could get -it's costing her more in rent than it should, but beggars can't be damn choosers. It's the happiest she's ever fucking been since she was seven and believed -really fucking believed with everything she's ever had- that there was something greater out there. She has a cracked rib and a bruise on cheekbone that's a odd shade of purple and she's smiling -despite the fact it hurts. She's drinking less -in fact, she hasn't even gotten tipsy since she left home. She's still smoking, and she honestly doubts she's ever gonna fucking quit, but that doesn't matter.

She's happy- but she's lonely. It's an anomaly.

* * *

Jackie's been in the City of Angels for a year. She's still on the gritty beauty side of things -and it will stay that way, because this is reality not that glass box they try and stick you in. She's made friends in the wrong people, drug dealers and prostitutes -people who fucking understand her, or the part she shows them at least. They think the sun shines out her ass, and she's not about to correct them because she's gritty and smart and quick and dangerous -a perfect fit for their world, and she fits right in without complaint.

She's never been more content.

* * *

She's been in the City of Angels for a year and a half when she sees them again. She's with Jenna -her prostitute best friend- and Ricky- Jenna's flavour of the month- when she hears a flap of wings. The two love-birds are distract and Jackie's always been too damn curious for her own damn good and peaks around the corner and into an ally and lo and fucking behold she recognises them. It's been over twelve years but it's them -or at least two of them. A guy with blond hair that's not much older than she is, who used to be one of the boys in the park and a lithe little girl who's just as old as she is that used to be the smallest one.

The girl's gaze snaps to Jackie and she takes off running, the boy glancing at Jackie before taking off after the girl -who looks so much like her that she couldn't not be his sister- both of them tucking their wings in.

Suddenly Jackie's seven all over again -but this time she's fucking faster, and smarter, and doesn't believe in God -just in miracles.

This is a miracle.

"Jack!" Jenna calls, but Jackie doesn't listen.

"Wait!" She yells at the winged angels, running as fast as her legs can. Which is only just a tiny bit slower than they can, but it doesn't matter, she's right on their heels -Jenna and Ricky an ally and a block behind her. "Fuck, can't you just wait for one goddamn fucking minute! I'm not going to hurt you!"

In fact, she doesn't even know what she wants to do when she catches them -she'll figure that out later. For now she's focused on running and only running.

"Hurry Gazzy!" The girl chirps, taking off into the air as she sides around a corner and into another ally.

"Wait! Please, wait!" Jackie calls, and damnit they aren't flying away this time. This time she's going to touch the things she once thought were angels -for no more reason than to prove they really aren't angels after all.

"Angel why aren't you-" The guy -Gazzy- rumbles, his wings expanding, but whatever Angel isn't Jackie doesn't find out because she jumps and grips onto the back of his jacket. He jerks down and it slides off before he knocks her down with his wings and flies away -leaving her with a worn denim jacket in her hand that has slashes on the back that would let his wings out.

She looks up to the twilight sky -dusky and perfect, her favourite time of day- with the jacket in her hand, and wonders if they can see her.

"Guess I'm not fucking crazy after all." She decides, slipping the jacket on and wondering what the fuck all this means and knowing that she'll never get a goddamn answer -as is life.

* * *

It's a day after she saw them in _her_ city. Angels in the City of Angels, who woulda thunk it? Certainly not her. Macy would have, but Jackie should know better. Jackie is hardened logic, street cred, and tough choices. Macy wouldn't last a day in Jackie's life. Macy could never last a minute in the street fights Jackie wins. Somewhere Macy stopped being Jackie, but Jackie will always be Macy -as if that makes a lick of fucking sense.

Jenna comments on the jacket as asks her where she ran off to. Jackie lies and tells her she stole it from a guy because she liked how it looked. It's only a half lie anyway -he was a guy and she did steal it and she likes the way it looks, but it certainly didn't happen that way, and that certainly wasn't why.

It's just a jean jacket - well worn and somewhere between light and dark- but she likes it. Jackie likes it a lot. Mostly for the cuts in the back and the embroidered 'The Gasman' on the pocket. It's special, and she has a gut feeling that someone -or something, if that's the case- will want it back.

Jenna shrugged it off with a 'Whatever, The Gasman' and a raspy smokers laugh. Jackie keeps her eyes trained on the sky all day and even Henry -her drug dealer friend who hires her once in a while to make sure the deals go the way they should- comments on her 'loftiness'. She tells him to 'mind his own fucking business' and smokes a cigarette, her eyes still trained on the sky.

* * *

He comes the next day, in the middle of the night -like she knew he would. She'd been sitting in the dark for the last hour waiting for him to sweep in and take the jacket while she slept. Too bad he wasn't expecting her to be sitting by the light switch with nun-chucks and a sadistic smile. When the figure eclipsed the light of her window -an impossibility to get to on the tenth story without using the loud fire escape- she knew it was him. When the moonlight was eclipsed for the second time- she first thought of the girl.

When she flipped on the light switch, Gazzy froze, and she recognised the red head as one of the boys. He was older than Gazzy -about twenty five, give or take- and blind, if those milky eyes were any indication. No girl in sight.

"I knew you'd be back. With a jacket this cool- I'd sure as hell want to get my hands back on it." Jackie smiled and took a long drag of her cigarette, before putting it out on the thick cuff of the jacket, burning a hole into the material.

Gazzy closed his eyes for a second -as if in pain- and turned to look at her.

"Shit." The red head muttered, sighing. "Max is going to castrate us and then she's going to blow up our missing genitals with one of _my_ bombs before she sets that goddamn fucking jacket on fire."

"Max won't find out." The blond haired boy shook his head, eyeing me wearily enough for the both of them.

"Angel told you not to fucking come too. She'll rat us out and you know it."

Gazzy shook his head. "She won't tell, she owes me."

Jackie sat back and listened.

"Are you too finished bickering like a married couple?" She asked, gruffly.

"No." The red head shot a glare at Jackie -dead on.

"Hey, you, with the strawberry locks that are girlier than mine. You're in my fucking apartment -breaking and entering. Show a little goddamn respect." Jackie never claimed to be nice.

"What's that clicking?" He asked the blond boy.

"She has lips rings. Two." Gazzy stared.

"You have really good hearing." Jackie muttered, cocking her head to study his red hair.

"The best." He flashed a smile before frowning. "And you have really steady breathing for someone who's awake."

"I try." Jackie shrugged.

"Especially," The red head added. "when you smoke as much as you do."

"I know my apartment smells like nicotine. Stop trying to be clever." She murmured, playing with her nun-chucks. The red head shrugged and went to go check out her crappy kitchen.

"Are those really necessary?" Gazzy asked, eyeing her nun-chucks.

"Are they?" She asked raising a brow.

"We won't hurt you. We don't do that sort of thing to people who aren't trying to kill us." Gazzy muttered.

"Fine." She threw them on the bed and they bounced with a metallic clink as the metal links brushed together. "Happy 'The Gasman'?"

He blushed. "Uh…"

She cocked her head, wondering what he was doing.

"I'd be happier if I had my jacket back. Like you said -it's a really nice jacket and-"

"You're rambling." She cut him off.

"I like her Gazzy." The red head muttered from her dim kitchen, where he was rummaging through her cabinets.

"Thanks. You got a name bomb-maker?"

"Iggy." He smiled impishly, before returning to raiding her cabinets. She noticed eerily that he moved with perfect ease -not hitting anything or groping around. And why was he raiding her kitchen if he couldn't see?

Whatever, let him do whatever the fuck he wants. Jackie didn't care as long as she got what _she_ wanted.

"Do you got a point Blondie?" She asked 'The Gasman'.

"Can I have my jacket back?"

"Depends, what are you willing to give for it?"

"Look, I don't have much-"

"I don't want anything material."

"I think she's propositioning you, dude." Iggy snickered from the kitchen. "I say take it. She sounds hot."

"No, I'm not propositioning you." I said leaning back in my chair.

Gazzy sighed. "Then what do you want?"

"I wanna see your wings."

"You've already seen them."

"Not up close."

He grimaces. "You sure there's nothing else."

"It's not like I'm putting you under a microscope. I don't want to study you. I just want a better look." Jackie muttered, impatiently.

"What if I don't comply? What if I just take my jacket back?"

"Then I kick your ass. I have a gun right -"

"There's no need for guns, right Gaz? Show the woman you're wings, you pussy." Iggy cut in, eating her peanut butter with his fingers. She glared at him before deciding it was a wasted effort and turned her attention back to the blond boy.

"You heard the man, take your shirt off." Jackie stood.

"What? You didn't say anything about a shirt-" Gazzy stammered.

"To see where they connect, Genius. I'm not interested in your body, just your wings."

"Not his personality?" Iggy asked from next to her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Jackie laughed, "Not especially. Who told you that you could have my peanut butter, anyway?"

"I did. It's -" Iggy started, smirking.

"Fine." Gazzy snapped, gripping the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Jackie's attention shifted as soon as his wings were visible. Finally, she'd be able to defeat her seven year old self's delusions that angels existed. Or, she'd have faith again -something that scared her shitless.

His wings snapped open with a woosh -a woosh that knocked over a lamp and blew a few pages of her library book, but that didn't matter because she was captivated by bare, hard muscled back and an over thirteen foot wingspan that barely- really, fucking barely, like an inch to spare on either side- fit in her apartment. Her mouth popped open just the slightest- nothing to be described as jaw dropping- and she took a step toward him, and then another, until she touched the very tip of his wing. Her fingers moved of their own accord and traced up the top of the primaries and then over the primary coverts, alula, and marginal coverts, until her fingers traced down the scapulars that were attacked to his back. Her fingers accidentally brushed against his bare skin, and he shivered, goosebumps spreading across his skin like wildfire. The feathers were softer -and warmer- than she'd expected and the skin of his back silkier -she tried to ignore the latter of her thoughts; when was the last time she'd been laid anyway?

She shook her head slightly - her fingers slipping down his secondary coverlets and to the tips of his secondaries.

"They're beautiful." Jackie murmured, revealing at the color- everything.

"Yeah, well, I guess." Gazzy muttered rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

Jackie slipped off her jacket -his jacket- and tossed it over his shoulder. "There you go Gasman. Happy?"

"Almost." He said retracting his wings.

"Not my problem. Our deal is done." She waved a dismissive hand at the blond boy as he tugged on his shirt.

"But ours isn't." Iggy spoke up.

"I don't have anything you want, Strawberry."

"Yes, you do."

"You can have the fucking peanut butter, it's expired anyway." Jackie mumbled, picking up her cigarettes.

"That's not what I want." He licked his fingers. "But I'll take it."

"What do you want?" She asked, lighting her cigarette with her old Zippo- something she'd gotten when she was sixteen.

"You're name, doll face." Iggy smiled.

"Why should I tell you?" She said blowing smoke in his face.

"I told you mine."

"I also gave you peanut butter." She countered, sitting back down on her crappy diner chair- a chair she'd stolen from her first actual job in this city.

"It's expired- trash. It doesn't count." He said.

Jackie liked this Iggy guy, he had balls -and not much tact, much like herself.

"Jackie." She said, de-ashing her cancer stick as the cherry burned it away too quickly for her liking.

"Jackie….?" He hedged, looking for a last name.

"I don't have a last name. It's just Jackie."

He paused, thinking. "Street fighter?"

"Now I'm curious. Why do you think that?"

"Overheard chanting. Thought you're voice sounded familiar though you haven't said 'bitch' or 'take this'." Iggy smiled.

She laughed, "Interesting. Lucky you, You've had the pleasure of meeting the undefeated champion of underground street fighting in the lovely City of Angels." A smirk painting her features as she said the last three words. "And now you have the pleasure of being the only people to ever break into my apartment and leave without something broken."

"We'll take the hint."

"Have a nice life." She turned around and waved them away, heading towards the bathroom -not concerned if they tried to steal anything because there wasn't anything worth stealing in her apartment besides the Zippo lighter in her pocket with her money, or the aviators on her nightstand but they were easily replaceable. She wasn't worried, she'd never see them again.

* * *

The next week she got evicted for not paying her rent- figures, but then again she knew it was coming, she even had her bags packed. And after an excruciatingly smelly cab ride she was at the darling Miss Molly's apartment -since Jenna was refusing to talk to her this week, for whatever fucking reason she had come up with.

Miss Molly let her in without a word -a favor, repaid.

Jackie smiled and dropped her two suitcases -her entire life, packed away in them- in the guest room and left, Molly tossing a spar key her way. Jackie slides her aviators down her nose and winks at the woman with a tight bun on top of her head and librarian glasses hiding clever eyes.

Fighting has always come easy for her -throwing punches with locked boxes worth of pain behind them, cracking bottles over heads, knowing when, where, and how hard to hit. She was a natural- a firecracker. Fake left, jab right, uppercut, leg swipe.

Underground fighting didn't have many rules- a few overseers mostly, to make sure no one got murdered, or got to the hospital if they got too banged up. Generally anything goes unless discussed beforehand. You had to be careful, and specific if you didn't want to get stabbed.

You'd be surprised how many women love fighting -not watching but actually fighting- high school debutants, college grads, teachers, bad cops… you name it.

Jackie was just the best- and they all fucking knew it.

The second she stepped into the parking garage she was greeted like she was family -even the girl's who's asses she kicked to the emergency room; it was a respect thing.

She was respected here. This was her home.

She wasn't surprised when Ke-Ke, one of the overseers and a good friend of hers, pulled her aside. New girls to be taught a lesson, old opponents want rematches, and a few guys here to see her.

Only the last bit of information was a surprise.

Ke-Ke pointed to one of the pillars on the far wall where guys lounged -people who payed big bucks to see chicks fight.

Seeing dumb and dumber make her curiosity spike.

"Blondie and Strawberry." Jackie smiled a tad bit ruthlessly, hands shoved in pockets, aviators gleaming in the shitty lighting.

"You're apartment was empty." Gasman said, so unnecessarily.

"I am aware. I thought you said you didn't have material items. It costs a lot to get in here." She slipped her cigarettes out.

"We name dropped." Iggy shrugged. "Besides, we have friends fighting."

"The ride home card. You did some research."

Gazzy shrugged and Iggy nudged the guy next to him. Surprising that Jackie hadn't noticed him before -she'd remember him anywhere. The guy in love with the head girl- she remembered it all too well, and fuck, she wanted to forget. Angels in love- she'd been such a ridiculous little girl.

"They want to fight you." Gazzy said, glancing at where the new girls were clustered. Jackie thought she saw a flash of blond hair, on a too skinny and too tall girl.

"They'll have to wait in line. I'm a busy woman." Jackie muttered, taking a drag on her cigarette.

"Actually, dumbass over here wanted to fight you." The guy next to Strawberry said poking Strawberry in the chest.

"No boys. Girls only."

"That's what the girl at the entrance said. Even after he begged." Guy smirked.

"You're getting some sick and twisted pleasure out of this, aren't you Fang?" Iggy asked.

"Sure am…Strawberry." Fang grinned maliciously.

Iggy attacked him and he was better than Jackie excepted for a blind boy with wings. She shook her head and finished her cigarette in a single drag- mostly because her previous expectation had ended 'with wings'.

She dropped her cancer stick to the ground and stomped it out with her Converse clad foot, watching them fight with a trace of amusement.

"Who are you going to fight first?" Gazzy asked.

"Whoever Ke-Ke set me up for. That's the breaks. I can't take down all the new girls first night. That's boring."

"You shouldn't fight my sister."

"Why not? Afraid she'll lose."

"Not exactly."

Jackie laughed. Macy cringed in the confines of her mind. They both shook their head- that shit is getting old.

"Well, we might just see, now won't we?" Jackie smirked.

"Hey, Jack! Fight!" Ke-Ke shouted and she heeded the call, adrenaline in her veins cause this shit- this never got old, never.

A simple stretch out was all Jackie got as she headed over to Ke-Ke- legs and arms, but she was a limber bitch, she could handle this shit, she always did.

"Put some music on Ke. I'm feeling a Chris Brown beat down. What do you think?" Jackie smirked as the little girl -sixteen, and wearing high heels, poor footwear choice- paled even more. Ke-Ke gave the top five fighters the fun of thinning the heard -cutting out the ones that needed to be cut.

Alrights, fines, sures and whatevers ensued.

"Run it! Bitch!" She crowed, excitement visible in her eyes. Ke-Ke wasn't in this business for the violence -like Jackie was- but for the cat fights- the girl didn't keep her preferences hidden, and Jackie respected that.

"Standard newbie rules. Tap out." Jackie said sliding her jacket off and tossing her cigarettes out of her jeans pocket and tossing them out on her jacket. She rolled up her jeans and tightened her belt. "Agreed?"

"Y-yes." She stammered.

"Back out of this while you can. As soon as Ke-Ke plays the music that's it. No turning back until tap out. I won't go easy on you."

"I'm not backing down." The girl stuck her chin up a fraction of an inch.

"Then turn out your pockets." Jackie grinned like a Jackal. The girl did and Jackie smirked at Ke-Ke.

Run it! blasted out of the speakers- the official go.

Nervous girl charged and Jackie stepped out of the way, hands in pockets, whistling.

"Lesson one: No high heels." Jackie smirked, stretching her leg out, tripping the girl as she ran past, with ease. The girl went down- snap went the nose, and everyone fucking winced.

"First broken nose of the night!" Ke-Ke cheered, bobbing to the music, her fro bobbing with her.

Almost everyone cheered. Jackie didn't, she waited for High Heels to stand up or tap out. Turns out it was stand up -she even tossed the shoes to the side before snapping her nose back into place. Jackie smiled, impressed with perseverance and quick learning.

The girl still charged- but it was more controlled this time, balls of feet tapping against concrete. First attempt at a punch- easily avoided, Jackie sent one solid elbow to her back, avoiding kidneys, while High Heels let out a cry of pain.

"Tap out!" The girl cried.

"Tap out!" Ke-Ke cried out loudly, sounding disappointed.

"Hey kid. Come here a second." Jackie called. The girl limped in Jackie's direction, nervously.

"Two more free lessons. Watch your back, you're kidneys are there -and those fuckers are important. Understand? Good. Next, wear tennis shoes -broken in ones. You don't want bare feet. Sure more movement but having someone break your toes- not fun. They never feel the fucking same ever again, trust me on that one."

The girl nodded meekly.

"In!" Jackie called over her shoulder and Ke-Ke cheered enthusiastically.

"Next is…. Mika." Ke smiled, ruthlessly.

Jackie mumbled to herself as Mika stepped into the makeshift ring, made of people and buckets at the corners.

"Newbie rules, tap out. Turn out your pockets if you agree." Jackie drawls, bored, and wanting the adrenaline. The girl did and the fight started. This time Jackie moved, swiftly and took the girls feet out from under her, crushing down on top of her as she fell on her chest.

"Ow!" Mika cried. "Tap out!"

"Tap out!" Ke cried.

"Out!" Jackie cried.

"You almost, almost beat your record J." Roxy smiled from her corner bucket.

"Next, let's get this fucking show on the road." Jackie made impatient hand gestures.

"Nudge." Ke sang.

"Name you're poison." Jackie vaguely gestured to the amps.

"Fergie. Glamorous." The girl chattered.

Someone across the room whistled, and not for the song. Strawberry was grinning, and so was Gasman. Jackie cut a sharp glance at the girl, Nudge.

"Do you know the Newbie rules? No extras, just hand to hand. Turn out your pockets if you agree to the terms." Jackie hated repeating the mantra, but knew better than skip it. She'd nearly lost her liver that time.

Nudge smiled and pulled her pockets out, popping a piece of gum in her mouth before smacking it loudly as the music started.

Nudge was fast- really fast, and Jackie focused her attention intently until everything else was white noise in the background. Sharp jab after quick thrust- she found herself dancing out of the way and slipping back to surprise Nudge, but the girl caught on quick and Jackie had to change up her style at least three times. She landed a few good hits to the Nudge's stomach that left the girl without breathe and one fantastic one to her chest that went her toppling over coughing as the music ended. Not that Nudge hadn't landed any hits, no, she had. One chop to the shoulder, another to the back of the leg - that one stung like a motherfucker, deep muscle bruise- and two to the gut.

"Defiantly in." Jackie panted, laughing. Slapping Nudge on the back in a friendly way, smiling Jackie silently announced a very worthy competitor. Nudge smiled back, and Jackie walked out of the ring, picking up her cigarettes and her jacket. Jackie grabbed her nun-chucks out of the pocket of her jacket before dropping it back down into a pile, pulling a cancer stick out of her pack with her lips and lighting it with the flick of her wrist.

"J-" Ke started.

Jackie held up a finger and sent a glare in the girl's direction. "Have the new girls face each other while I have a goddamn five minute smoke."

Ke laughed. "You heard the woman! Nicole and Ashley, pick your poison."

And so it went- Jackie sat on the sidelines and smoked while she judged -because she could, she was undefeated. She wasn't sure the title would last long- she was getting worn from this, her body despite being used to the tortures needs a fucking break. She should retire while she's still undefeated- make things easier. Get a real hobby.

She'd fight one more time tonight- but no more newies, a challenge, but someone she knew that she could win against. Jackie reached up and snatched the list from Ke-Ke while she was busy jamming to Heartless. She flipped though the papers on the clip board until she found her list and everyone who had signed up to fight her. Most were too easy to win and she squelched up her face- before glancing up at the fight to see hair pulling and shook her head. No wonder Ke was excited.

"Stop acting like girls and fight!" Jackie yelled and sure enough a punch was thrown, collided with nose job. Ke pouted, she _liked_ hair pulling.

They had a silent conversation before Jackie muttered. "I don't fucking understand you."

"Sure you do. Thrill of the fight without the bloodshed. You're thinking about it J. I can tell, you're going to retire soon and then you'll be doing my job.'

"We'll see Ke, we'll see."

"Jack, you know I'm fucking right. Stop frontin'." She spit out. "Which one in and which one out?"

"Goth girl in. She's got spunk." Jackie muttered. "What if I go respectable?'

Ke-Ke laughed. "You love the gritty beauty, girl. You'll never leave."

"Wasn't talking about leaving gritty beauty, ho. Talking respectable like dental and health insurance."

"Who the fuck needs that?" Ke laughed. "How the fuck would you _get _that, girl?"

"Bounty hunter. Secretary. Bartender. Fuck, I don't know." Jackie muttered into her cigarette.

"Williams and Sarah. You're up. I'm picking your poison." Ke yelled before slipping down next to Jackie, music ready to go.

"What the fuck got you thinking this?" Her eyes flickered to the boys and then around the circle.

"Shit- Shit I never told you about."

"Ah, the closet that's actually a crypt. I feel you girl. You got some skeletons."

"Yeah, don't we all? Mine have been dropping out of the sky lately."

Ke laughed. "Boys?"

"Not exactly. More like memories."

"Good, you don't need those boys."

"I'm not even going there Ke-Ke. Don't even start." Jackie shook her head while watching the fight with half her attention.

"I'm just sayin' if you're ever so inclined, J. I'll be here." Ke pushed out her chest and Jackie rolled her eyes.

"Tap out!" One of the girls cried.

"Tap out!" Ke grinned, hoping back on her podium. "J, what do you think of these fine ladies?"

"Both out." Jackie shrugged. Both girls scowled. Whatever.

"So J, decided who's going to be tangoing with you tonight?" Ke said. Girls around the circle chanted their opinions, but Jackie's mind was made up.

"Helga."

The lumbering figure that was Helga rose up from the crowd, easily a foot taller than Jackie- and far more steroid enhanced than any woman should be.

"Finally," The woman's Russian accent boomed into the small ring. "I've waited months for this."

"I know." Jackie replied, stepping over the line, tugging her jersey over her head and exposing her sports bra. Her shirt joined her jacket in the pile near Ke.

The rules were set, dagger against nun-chucks. Tap out, bloody skull, or pass out.

It didn't take Jackie long -about a minute - to wear Helga out enough that she stopped using her dagger and threw it to the side. Out of common courtesy she tossed away her nun-chucks and went bare handed. It only took another minute to hit just the right spot on the huge woman's neck that sent her tumbling right into slumber.

"Pass out!" Ke hooted, slapping Jackie on the back lightly where blood wasn't smeared. Helga had managed to get a few nicks in, but nothing too serious. Jackie stepped out of the ring and unrolled her pants, loosened her belt and grabbed her shit, tossing her jacket on, shoving her chucks into her pocket, stuffing her cancer sticks into her sports bra and draping her jersey over her shoulder. She gave a little wave with the flick of her wrists, a salute and a goodbye.

"Wait!" She heard a gruff voice call, but she didn't stop. Nope, not tonight. He caught up with her though, but she was just too fucking tired to try and shake him off. "You shouldn't go home alone."

It was Gasman, of course it was.

"What do you want?" Jackie asked, angrily.

He didn't answer, just followed her.

* * *

She got weird looks on the subway -but then again, that was nothing new. She was bleeding after all, and not wearing much -bra, jacket, sneakers, and jeans. Gazzy tried not to stare at her skin, but Jackie could tell.

It wasn't until a homeless guy sat next to her and tried to rub his junk against her leg did he really say anything.

"Back off before I break your arm." Gazzy grumbled, glaring.

Effective, normally Jackie just punched them in the balls or pulled out her knife. In fact, Gazzy's venomous glares were keeping most of the dirt bags away.

"Gasman, chill the fuck out." Jackie snapped at him, because his actions were bothering her. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. A fact of which you are aware."

"Against girls." He muttered.

"Did you see Helga? She's not a fucking girl, she's a giant. A lumberjack filled to the brim with more steroids than I can name."

"You still got cut up."

"This? This is nothing." Jackie laughed. "I've had broken ribs, broken fingers, broken toes, a ruptured spleen, a cut so deep I nearly lost my liver, a half punctured lung- the list goes on and on. A few scratches, it's nothing. My jacket is probably ruined, but I like my jersey better anyway."

"How can you half puncture a lung?" Gazzy asked.

"To hell if I knew. I wasn't really paying attention. I was more concentrated on not dying. "

"That isn't healthy. Normal people run away from violence."

"Look it's healthier than some things. At least I don't harbour a meth or coke addiction." Jackie said, watching the walls of the tunnel blur by outside her window. She had no comment about 'normal.'

"No, you just smoke incessantly." Gazzy muttered to himself.

"Excuse me? Are you judging me?" Jackie snapped.

"Of course not." He said too quickly.

"You better not be." She narrowed her eyes at him before slumping against her seat, tried and hungry. When the next stop came she detangled herself from her seat and hopped onto the platform deftly, pulling out her cigarettes and lighting up as she strolled up the stairs with a sensuous gait of someone who's completely comfortable with their surroundings -Gazzy followed her like a lost puppy, marvelling at her. He didn't meet girls like her -strong girls, yes- but no one with her outlook or attitude. No one had her gall -not even Max, and that fascinated him, more than it should.

"Are you done staring at my ass?" She asked at the top of the platform, rising an eyebrow.

He blushed, caught red-handed- reminding him of the night he had gotten his jacket back and how when her fingers had brushed against his skin for just the barest second that he'd gotten so hard he could barely think straight.

"What's a good little boy like you living in this fucking world?" She asked, strolling down the street like she owned it -and in a way she did, all eyes were on her.

"What makes you think I'm a good little boy?" He asked, slightly offended. He'd fallen into that role enough. He wasn't a good little boy -especially with the thoughts he'd been having about her.

"I can tell."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"How'd you get to be an undefeated street fighter?"

She shrugged and he knew he wasn't getting any more of an explanation.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"I'm going to the best diner in LA. I don't know where you're going."

"I'm going with you."

* * *

And that's how it all started.


	2. Chapter 2

**I think I should get some serious lovin' for this. This has been the bane of my existence -and the goddamn story isn't even finished yet, that's how long this shit is. If- and only if- I get some decent feedback am I going to finish this bitch.**

**By the way, this has a sex scene- not graphic- but if you have a problem with that then... I don't know. Skip it, or something. **

**I don't own Maximum Ride.  
**

* * *

Jackie is twenty and on her own. The world she has left behind seems like a nightmare that she never wants to revisits -a drivel of horror, a silent scream on the air piercing innocent eardrums. The world she lives in now is cut from glass -all sharp angels and painfully clear edges, everything real and nothing hidden. Anything she wants she can have, and violence is hers for the savoring. Bibles are thought about -memorized words that she can't forget, no matter how hard she tries, etched into her mind, dredged up by a boy with mesmerizing silk wings. The boy who traipses around after her an annoyance that becomes familiar -and astoundingly, almost, _almost_, welcome on her loneliest days. Friends seem few and far between, but she's grow up and part of her feels like she doesn't need them -and part of her really doesn't, though of course, that leaves part of her that does. Her life is a complicated weave of gritty beauty, harsh realization, and the evanescent surrealism that seemed to encase her days- all meshed together in a pot of decay and grime. She seemed almost glamorous in her destitution, with her guns and her weapons and her cigarettes. Most people seemed to forget that she was just a girl, barely a woman, because she was so much bigger than herself.

Thoughts of her past still came to her, on dark rooftops and in dingy apartments. She thought of her family -what a lack there had been of it. She thought of her mother- wondered if she was happy -decided she didn't care. Contemplated her father -if he was in rehab, or drinking, or dead. The worst thoughts came when she thought about he sister -and the niece that she hadn't seen in years. Those were the thoughts that kept her up late at night -chain smoking, and drinking until she couldn't not tumble into the darkness that greeted her so warmly.

* * *

When Jackie is twenty she gets used to him just showing up out of thin air like it was the most normal thing in the entire world. Sometimes it was once a week and sometimes it was two days in a row and most times it was once a month- sometimes he would stay for a day or maybe two or ten, there was never a pattern. Once she didn't see him for two months -though that had been about a fight and was really mostly her fault in the first place, but whatever, she really didn't give a fuck.

In fact, she had gotten so used to him that when he just showed up in an ally, or on the street, or at the parking garage, anywhere, she wasn't even that angry anymore -there were still times when she would yell at him to go away and 'why the fuck are you following me anyway, jackass,' but he never answered.

She really didn't bother asking herself why he didn't anymore -it was just an accepted fact.

Really, she has no fucking clue what he wants from her because he hasn't tried to have sex with her yet and that kinda sorta confuses her -more than it really should because he's constantly staring at her.

Miss Molly is under the impression that he was Jackie's stalker -Jackie doesn't put too much stake in this though it is an accurate description of Blondie. Jackie had actually started thinking of him as her Guardian Angel -which was ridiculous and she just need to stop while she was ahead because she wasn't seven and she wasn't stupid and she should just know better by now; besides she didn't need some goddamn guardian angel to protect her when she's still an undefeated street fighter.

* * *

It was about six months after Jackie stole The Gasman's jacket that she got a chill down her spine -it was the only way to describe it, a prickly sensation that would have made anyone else shudder- while she was walking toward her new, less crappy apartment; which is still in the City of Angels, because she'll never fucking leave _her_ city. Jackie had been getting better at sensing when he was around, or when he would show up -and today she was actually right.

"Hey, Blondie." She greeted the air, gathering a few looks from onlookers in sullen raincoats hidden under drab umbrellas. It's drizzling, but Jackie doesn't care -her bloodstained jacket is soaked and so are the rest of her clothes but she never really understood the point of the whole umbrella thing because you're _supposed_ to get wet when it rains.

"Hey," The answer came from the ally entrance where he joined in step with her -even with her long legs she would have had trouble keeping up with his lengthy strides if he hadn't matched her pace. He didn't really seem surprised that she knew he was there. He's soaked too, carrying a battered backpack -one she's gotten used to seeing on him and is probably filled with clothes- and wearing that same old jacket.

"Anyone with you?" She asks, because he's been known to bring someone with him on occasion -usually Strawberry or his sister. The sister who Jackie, for the life of her, couldn't bring herself to call Angel- mostly because the girl was intrusive, protective, a bit of a bitch when it came to her brother. She thought Jackie was the devil reincarnated, and was- get this- a telepath and had tried to, on more than one occasion, alter Jackie's thoughts. Tried being the key word because it never seemed to work and the blond would just get frustrated and storm away childishly. To say the least Jackie didn't get along with the girl, at all.

"Nope. Iggy wanted to come, but I told him that after the last time you probably wouldn't want any more company. Me being here is probably a stretch on your hospitality, right?" Gazzy gave her a shit-eating grin that made rain run down his slight dimples. He was getting better at reading her and she was almost -_almost_- impressed.

Jackie shrugged. Gazzy was actually kinda, sorta growing on her -in a way that she really didn't think was possible, because she never enjoyed anyone's company to start with, even her friends get on her last nerve most of the time; except Ke-Ke, which really didn't count because Ke was only interested in her vagina.

"Besides, this way I get the couch instead of the floor." He gave her his half-smile half-smirk and the corner of her mouth involuntarily twitched up a bit.

Two blocks later she sighs heavily as the sound of sirens pierce the air and takes off running, hoping that she can make it to her apartment before they notice her -she's pretty fucking popular now a days since the police got an undercover agent into the parking garage; getting her out had been the problem. Jackie's been getting used to people calling in when they see her 'Wanted' posters up -most of which just make her feel like a bandit and a badass, or just annoy the fuck out of her.

The Gasman doesn't ask any questions, just keeps pace with her until they get to her street.

The first thing she does when she gets in the semi-dry, dingy, and falling apart building is light up a cigarette and inhale the sweet smoke until her lungs feel like there ready to burst and her mind is reeling from the nicotine. Her sneakers squelch wetly with every step up the stairs, taking chips of the flaking rust red paint with them. The Gasman's shoes squeak with his steps as he follows her up.

She not really not that winded, even though she is breathing harder than she normally would when she gets to her floor -mostly because she's not used to carrying that much weight when she runs and her clothes have soaked up about twenty pounds of water; or at least that what it feels like. Jamming her key into the lock and wiggling the knob in just the right way gets the door unlocked and she shoves against it because it likes to stick in the humidity -like the rain, or the blistering city and pavement heat mixed with the wind off the Pacific; you know, LA in general. The door popped open with a creek under her weight and banged loudly against the wall from her strength.

Jackie put out her cigarette in the ashtray by the door and peeled off her wet jacket, throwing it onto the kitchen counter where the nun-chucks in the pocket collided with the Formica with a clunk, a clink, and a slap. She threw her keys next to the ashtray and heard Gazzy click the deadbolt into place -he'd gotten used to her routines and she hardly thought about when he did stuff like that anymore.

She kicked off her worn converse and slid off her rain splattered aviators only to toss them by her keys. Once that was done she headed towards the bathroom, dripping wet and stripping as she went -forgetting that Gazzy was with her because she just wanted out of the wet heavy clothes for fuck's sake.

In fact, she didn't remember Gazzy until she was a few feet away from the bathroom and he touched her bare stomach with calloused hands -her sodden wife beater abandoned a few feet ago, leaving her in a bra, jeans, and socks - roughly turning her around until she was facing him with blue eyes that were electrified with lust and a raging hard on pressing against her hip. To Jackie -who hadn't been laid in far too long- he was looking like a fucking wet dream with his wet hair in his eyes and a light stubble on his face.

She raised an inquiring eyebrow at him before he smashed his lips down on hers with six months worth of sexual frustration behind it -and it was worth every fucking second.

* * *

Their skin is wet and The Gasman doesn't know what he's doing -but he makes up for it with his excitement and never ending energy. Her shitty apartment is filled with the sounds of sex -the moans and mewling of a girl and grunts and panting of a guy- and it almost makes it seem brighter somehow. The light is filtering in through her dirt caked window and she can see his face -barely- in the dim lighting, even though she forgot to turn on the lights -Gasman was far too distracted to be bothered. The springs on her bed protest with each thrust and his eyes are just so goddamn blue and bright - and…fuck.

His skin is soft and silky as she remembers and his muscles are thick and strong under the skin. His weight is lighter than she expected with all that lean muscle -like he's filled with air and light, but she can tell he's strong. His stubble scratches her neck as he kisses and nibbles and licks there, his breath hot and wet in her ear. His wings shudder with his pleasure -as his breathing hitches his wings arch out, never fully extending, but seeming to flutter on imaginary air currents.

Her body is flexible and resistant, light and lean with curves in all the right places, toned with sinewy muscles under the surface- a fighters body- and he gets drunk off of it. Her hands grips at his shoulders and guild their movements until he catches on, and her hips arch to meet his thrusts, eyes glazing over as her back arches. Her skin mesmerizes him -all tan and scared with thin and thick white lines that are barley raised at all- and she sucks on one of her lip rings when her nails bite into his back. Her hair was dark at the roots and honey at the tips and he tugged his fingers into the short strands to pull her lips to him so _he_ could suck on her lip rings.

When it was over his wings snapped out and contracted violently while he collapsed on his forearm as she clamped down around him in the most intimate way, letting out a string of curses that would make a crack addict proud. Their both breathing hard and tired as hell but when they regain their breathes, skin collided and it starts all over again.

* * *

She rolls into him the next morning, and immediately rolls back over and tries to fall asleep. Sleep eludes her and she's just the tiniest bit freaked out because she's never had to wake up with someone in her bed before -don't mistake that for inexperience because Jackie's well educated from many a fuck buddy and one night stand. She's really only had one relationship before and even then her high school boyfriend never stayed overnight after sex.

No, this is a very new experience for her -so eventually she gives up on trying to go back to sleep, rolls out of bed, and goes to get a mug of coffee grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of panties on the way.

While the coffee's brewing she shoves her clothes on and checks her phone for messages -finds two, Henry and Ke, both wondering what she's doing today. Raiding the fridge finds her some leftover Chinese food that doesn't smell bad enough to make her sick- so she throws it in the microwave and calls Henry -because she's running out of food and working for him is always easier, mostly because he's gay and isn't interested in her like Ke-Ke.

Henry just tells her a location and a time and she writes it down on her wrist, so she won't forget, grabs a mostly clean fork from the drain before she digs into her noodles- sitting on her counter, because she doesn't have a fucking kitchen table- drinks the blackest and most bitter coffee she's had in awhile; since she's out of cream and sugar and she needs something to wake her up.

Gasman clambers into the room looking tired as he rubs his eyes - wearing only jeans she notices, but only vaguely. He steals her coffee, takes a sip, and spits it out into the sink.

Jackie smirks into her Chinese take-out box at his expression and takes a long sip of coffee just to -Amuse? Disgust? Annoy? She's not sure- astound him.

"That was probably the most disgusting thing I've ever put in my mouth -and I've eaten out of a dumpster." He says, making numerous faces and looking for something in the fridge to wash the taste out of his mouth -he finally settles on a pop that's been in there since she's moved in and is probably all out of fizz and tastes like nothing but sediment.

"You do realize you're out of food right?" He said once his mouth was clean of the nasty coffee taste.

She grunted an affirmative before shoving more noodles in her mouth, licking the sauce off her snake bites as she did so -something that made Gazzy endlessly fascinated, and made him press against her and kiss her until she kissed him back.

They didn't leave her apartment for a while.

* * *

That night she went to Henry's drug deal to keep the peace like she had done so many times before. He called her in when big, dangerous deals went down and she kept people from dying -mostly she just stood around and looked threatening, and most of the times things were kept honest.

Most of the time- and when they weren't she took care of it; always.

The place was a crappy dance club, down by the docks in the industrial section of town. The air smelled like metal and sea, and the croaking cries of the gulls filled the air as she made her way down the street with Gazzy. He seemed weary of the club when he saw the neighborhood and made a vaguely tense joke about drug deals and guns.

Jackie just shrugged it off like she did most things and lit a cigarette.

They were early, mostly because Jackie hasn't been out dancing in a while and she wanted to get a lay out of the club incase the police rained on her parade. It's always good to have a back up plan.

The club is shitty. Run down, dark, and strobe light filled, with the music blaring so loud that you can't hear anything the person standing next to you might be saying. Couples were rubbing up against each other on the dance floor and people were having sex in the dark corners. The bartender wasn't carding and Jackie's sure she saw a few young teenagers stumbling with bottles in hand. The walls were stained and had exposed pipes -nothing up to heath code standards, but this was nothing new in Jackie's world. She got used to a lot of things -like not actually having an identity; something that made heath care a bitch, until it came to paying a bill that they can't send you.

"Want something to drink?" She yelled in Gasman's ear over the thundering rap music. He nodded and she made her way to the bar -taking off her leather jacket to show off her bodice shirt to get the bartender's attention. She leaned over to show off her tits -what was there at least- to make sure she got her drinks fast, and yelled her order in his ear -gin and beer. Proof that she had the greatest job in the world- drinking on the payroll.

The club stank of nicotine and booze and sweat and too many people and cheap ass perfume and too much cologne- Jackie wrinkles her nose as she carves out part of the bar counter with her knife; half of her reasoning is boredom and half of it is a threat to the bartender so he knows not to drug her drink. Gazzy leans with his back against the bar -as if the threat is out on the over packed dance floor and not standing right next to him; a girl with a swagger that was almost too big for this city and a mean right hook.

The bartender slips her the two drinks with an overly sweet smile and a not to subtle stare at her chest. She sips on hers and enjoys the burn while Gazzy sends him a death glare, taking his beer in a death grip that makes Jackie think he's going to break the bottle in half.

She recognizes the jealously and the possessive glances at her but makes no note of them -she's not his, especially after only having had sex a few times and she's not going to pretend that she is. Jackie thinks that he's being more than a little ridiculous. So she waits until he's drained his bottle and loosened up before she tosses the rest of her drink back and drags him to the dance floor.

The song is some heavy rap song with a strong bumping chorus that makes the entire club quake to it's dirty lyrics. Gazzy grinds up against her and gets lost in the music and the sweating people and vibe that just resonates from all around. His nose is on her neck and his breath on her skin.

Jackie loses herself in the flashes of skin and the smell of alcohol - revels in the people pressed around her; the way she can blend into the crowd and feel like _part_ of something, even if it's just for a song or seven.

* * *

The deal goes off without a hitch. The wanted posters have made her job a breeze and no one's willing to take on Jackie 'The Jackal' as she's notoriously know, even if she is a girl; barely a woman. She stumbles out of the club, high on adrenaline and intoxication -the latter due to the seven shots Henry ordered for her in honor of his best deal to date. She sways in her heels and smiles at nothing as she takes long, peaceful drags on her cigarette. The Gasman grips her shoulders as she stumbles and helps her down the subway stairs, holding her calloused hand in his big one.

She laughs at his questions and scoffs when he calls her drunk in a teasing voice -she's forgotten what it's like to have people tease her since most don't dare anymore. She giggles -no shit, actually giggles- and tells about how her sister always used to tease her. Jackie doesn't realize her mistake, that Macy has a sister, not her. Not anymore. Gazzy doesn't seem to notice, and Jackie only blinks at her slip.

When she gets tired, about halfway to her apartment she rests her head on his shoulder and slurs an explanation. Her eyes are half closed when he brushes the short strands of her hair out of her face, and she won't remember it tomorrow, so he whispers something in her ear that -at the time- made her smile lazily at him and kiss his cheek.

* * *

Jackie wakes up the next morning with a hangover to kill all hangovers. The light streaming in through her dirt caked windows stabs at her retinas and she tries to go back to sleep -ultimately failing. All she really wants is to lay in bed, take some Advil, and maybe -if she feels better- get in a good fuck. She doesn't remember most of last night - specifically after her third shot- and so when she rolls over to an empty bed, she frowns and tries to recall if she yelled at him or made him sleep on the couch; and what offence could cause that, because she's aware of the fact that when she's drunk she's handsy.

When nothing comes to mind she grumbles and rolls out of bed.

He's not in the bathroom or the living room, but there is a note on her counter.

Jackie's surprised at the disappointment she feels -she shrugs it off and pretends like it's nothing, like she's sixteen all over again and if she ignores it'll go away.

* * *

He comes back two weeks later, in the middle of the night -the ass crack of dawn to be precise. Jackie sits up in bed, startled by the sudden pounding on her front door- her hair sticking up every which way and drool on her face- which she wipes hastily with the back of her hand, clanking her snake bites into her teeth. She been exhausted lately -fighting, and working more than she normally does -to make time go faster. The sirens pierce the air more often and send her sprinting for cover -her body is usually worn out by the end of the day. She doesn't have time to think about anything, or anyone.

The pounding is relentless and loud -echoing around her nearly empty apartment, because she's really never had much shit to begin with and all the empty space just makes everything louder.

She reaches for her gun, wondering who in the hell could be stupid enough to be making such a racket, until her name comes attached to the pounding- and really she's not _that_ surprised at his stupidity, so she tosses down the gun on the nightstand.

Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. "Jackie!" Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. "Jackie open up!"

She recognizes that voice and slips out of bed and shoves on some pants- because she isn't wearing any and she's not about to open the door without any. She speeds across the apartment and turns the deadbolt violently before yanking the door open as hard as she can, because she's never heard him sound like that. Panicking. Worried. Desperate.

What she found on the other side of the door is scared into her retinas and her memory. She'll never, ever forget what Gazzy looked like -eyes haunted saucers with dirt and grime caked all over his face, and blood and rain soaking his clothes. It's not his blood- at least most of it isn't- she can tell that right away because she's been in way too many fights to know all that can't be his. That, and he's crying, and has been crying- the streaks in the grim on his face tell tale signs. Jackie knows that you can't cry that much over wounds -there would be more winces and curses, if he would be standing at all.

She doesn't want to ask, but she doesn't want to shut the door in his face either.

Jackie's not sure what she wants, except that she doesn't want Gazzy to ever look like this again -like he's seen bits of hell that no one could ever imagine.

She steps back and lets him come in. He doesn't go past her but grabs her waist and holds on for dear life, crying into her shoulder.

Jackie doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know how to make everything better or erase whatever's happened. She knows how to live and survive by herself.

Macy knows what to do but she's buried deep somewhere and is too quite to be heard.

Jackie pulls away from him and shuts the door. The deadbolt snaps into the lock metallically in the almost silence and she grabs his wrist and drags him to the bathroom, improvising. Think on her feet, that's something that Jackie's capable of doing.

She turns the water on and plugs the tub- the water pounds out and splashes up the tiles as it fills. Gazzy is a lost little boy, so she pushes his jacket off and grabs his blood soaked shirt and pulls it off -the blood stains his hair as it goes over his head but she doesn't cringe even though she wants to. She wads up his shirt and throws it in the garbage, but can't throw away his jacket so she tosses it on her sink. Her cracked mirror is starting to steam up, but she can see herself in it still -it worries her that she's _not worried _by what she sees; a youthful girl with scars and hallowed cheeks standing next to a blood stained angel. In the mirror she sees Gazzy's wings and the cuts there. Not many and not deep, she realizes as she turns him around. Just three long scratches that have stained the feathers.

Gazzy catches on to her idea and takes his shoes off, his pants and boxers following after, leaving him completely bare -stained and blotchy and dirty. Jackie ignores the cuts on his torso and leads him to the bath and into the water -ignoring all that pale skin, and the muscles underneath it. Now was not the time.

Gazzy sinks into the hot water with a shudder and a wince -the water turns pink. Jackie turns to head out to the kitchen and get a dishtowel, only to be stopped by a wet hand gripping her arm so hard that it almost hurt. She turns around to pleading eyes that are so blue and wide and tear filled that she drops down beside the tub.

"Don't leave." He says. "Please. Just stay. Stay with me."

She just nods, vaguely, not sure exactly what he means -trying not to make promises she can't keep, because she knows how broken promises feel.

* * *

Truthfully, Jackie never truly got an answer out of him -not that she really tried, because soon she decided, after countless cigarettes and long stares at the Gasman she knew before, that it was easier not to know. Gazzy was bad for a week -skittish and nervous, like a lost child- but soon he started to come back out of whatever shell he had decided to escape to; not that she blamed him for having a shell, not everybody could just up and leave when the going got bad, like she had. He started to have something in his expression instead of looking like a child after someone called him on his crappy track phone after a few days -which he had only mentioned once before, in passing, and that she didn't have a number for. His low 'mmhmm's' and tortured sighs had filled her crappy apartment, while she had flipped trough the worn pages on her ancient library book -on the spine was a ripped sticker that had contained the name of the library she'd gotten it from, but now was illegible, just the way she'd intended.

She started to see that eat-shit grin on his face when the Chinese guy dropped off the food, or when she made a particularly dirty joke and he blushed -or sometimes just when she happened to glance in his direction, and those were the ones that confused the shit out of her; or scared the shit out of her because he couldn't possibly be getting attached to her, and if he was she…well, she wasn't going to think about that.

* * *

Gazzy follows her for weeks, leaving only for a few days at a time, but always returning before a week had passed- staying close enough to her that people are starting to talk about parasites and leeches, because Gazzy's not well liked at the garage, and those bitches were getting anxious to beat Jackie before she 'retires.' The fights are getting more desperate as the girls do- and sometimes it's all Jackie can do to walk away without limping because some of the blows erupt from behind as well as in front of; mob mentality. Sometimes respect is forgotten and the rules are disregarded- and that's when Ke-Ke steps in and shouts until Jackie can get over the pain and back in a fighting position.

When it gets bad she can see Gazzy advancing in her peripherals and she doesn't know if that bothers her or not- that it won't ever go as far as it has because he'll stop it, or that he doesn't think she's capable; which she is because if she can handle what has happen she can certainly handle what's to come.

Or, at least, that's what she tells herself.

* * *

It's two months after Gazzy showed up at her house in the middle of the night covered in blood. She still doesn't have a straight answer, and she's still getting half beaten to death as she keeps a five fingers gripped securely on her title. It's the last week and she knows that she's going to get beaten bloody after she deals with the newbies, so she takes her time and all goes swimmingly until…

"Sarah!" Ke-Ke crows, grinning like a maniac -it's been a good night for her so far, with hair pulling and a ripped shirt. Ke looks like she's on top of the fucking world.

Jackie not so much- a chill goes down her spine at the name, like it does every time. Not even when she realizes that it really isn't who she thinks it is -but this time, she's right because she can hear the bratty voice that a copy of the one that Macy heard for years.

It sounds just like Alex, but it's not.

Jackie turns around, slowly, a predator stalking her pray- shoulders stiff, teeth clenched.

It's much worse -Alex would recognize her in an instant and there would be confrontation, but Sarah won't, and Jackie can't bear to hit her.

Sarah is the exact replica of her mother -the dimple in the corner of her mouth and the brown-gray eyes that Jackie herself has, a family trait. But that's not the worst of it, because Alex would never be here, in the garage. Alex was all boys and smoking pot and having sex- never into fights and blood, and God fucking forbid, violence. So something must have gone wrong -because Sarah isn't acting like Alex, she's acting like Macy, and inevitably, Jackie; which could never, ever, ever be a good thing to a girl who can barely, fucking, barely pass for fifteen, though Jackie knows she's only thirteen.

The young girl doesn't recognize Macy in Jackie -for which the fighter is thankful- but it's hard for anybody to see the characteristics anymore, even with such an old memory to go off of.

Still, the fighters won't go against anyone too young -morels and shit like that, something that didn't get lost in the translation that got them here in the first place- so Jackie plays the age card so she doesn't have to punch her niece.

The girl yells- much like her mother- and Jackie tells her to grow up and go home, and it takes until then to realize that if Sarah's in the city… then Alex must be too. Jackie feels something lodged in her stomach an anxiousness that's not entirely unfamiliar -it sits in her stomach like knots, that remind her of being a little kid and watching her parents fight- her mouth tastes like shame -again, not too unfamiliar- and her head is too clogged up to compute. Sarah huffs and storms away out of the garage, and Jackie watches her go- feeling the Gasman's eyes on her the whole time.

It's never been like this, she's never had to deal with demons here, in her city -the city where dreams come true and stars are born. Jackie feels like the past has come back to haunt her, and all she can do is stand there, in a circle of girls chanting her name, and fight. Which, is exactly what she does, because one option is better than nothing- and at least she knows she's good at this.

That night, the baggage is worse than the bruises- and the bruises are bad.

* * *

When Gazzy touches her after that, it's like she's made of glass -which probably has something to do with all the bruises and cuts across her skin- but she hates it. She pushes against him, trying to get him to treat her like he always did -like she was the hardened street fighter she was and not some porcelain doll. She trusts her hips up to meet his, despite the fact that it hurts, because she wants to feel like the world isn't breaking, like she has something solid to hold onto- but he just grips her hips gently and stops her from hurting herself. Fed up, she rolls over until she's on top and disengages herself from him. She doesn't look at him as she leaves and goes to find a cigarette.

He follows though and that just pisses her off more.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asks.

She throws her box of cigarettes back on the counter once she has one lit. She pulls a shirt over her head and ignores the fact that the cherry of her cancer stick burned her skin as she did so, because she could handle it- despite what the Gasman thought, she could take the pain.

"What the fuck makes you think that?" She snaps.

Gazzy just stares at her, bare in her kitchen, with big blue eyes.

"Tell me what I did wrong." It's not a question, it's not a statement- his tone is demanding, angry even. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, that's the point, you didn't." She exhaled her smoke, through her clenched teeth.

His eyebrows crinkled in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't hurt me. You treated me like I was about to break."

"Jackie-"

"I'm not some fucking little doll, okay? I can handle it a little pain. I just wanted you to fuck me, and you wouldn't. You just couldn't, could you?"

"You're hurt."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Sometimes you need someone to take care of you. You can't keep living like this." He reached out to brush his fingers across her bruised skin- but he ended up caressing air as she jerked away from him violently, daggers in her eyes.

There's a moment of silence that seems to stretch on forever.

"Yes, I can. Get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Jackie-"

"I said," She says, calm as can be. "Get the fuck out of my apartment. Now."

Gazzy looks upset- but she doesn't stop.

"Get out!" The tendons in her neck stand out in sharp tension as she yells, and he flinches back at her sudden outburst.

He leaves the room and yanks on some clothes. Right before he gets ready to turn the deadbolt, he turns to her where she's standing in her kitchen- gripping the counter like her life depends on it, smoking.

"I meant what I said, on the subway after the club."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Yes, you do."

"No-" She sighs, not in the mood to argue like children. All her anger's spent and it's left her exhausted. "Just get out."

"I meant what I said, Jackie."

"I'm sure you did. I just don't remember. Nor do I care. Just leave." She said walking back to her bedroom, each step aching her stiff muscles.

He didn't leave. She didn't hear the deadbolt slide, and she didn't hear the door open.

She didn't even hear his footsteps, but one minute he was by the door and the next minute he was right behind her.

"I think you do." His voice rumbles.

Jackie whirls around to see him right there, bag abandoned by the door, a glint in his eyes.

"I think you care." He says.

"Do you now?"

"I think you care more than you're letting on."

She raised her eyebrow- tempted to raise her fist. "It think you're wrong."

"Don't push me away, Jackie. You don't want me to leave."

"I don't?" Her tone is sharp.

"If you did, I wouldn't be here right now. You would have made me leave a long, long time ago."

Which is, for the most part, completely true- but she's not fucking owning up to that, not now, and maybe, not ever.

"I'm right, aren't I?" He says, pressing up against her.

She's torn between pushing him away and dragging him back to bed to see if he'll treat her like a porcine doll again- because, frankly, the glass world feels like it's about to cut her into tiny pieces, and he's the only solid thing in sight.

"What if you aren't?" She asks, because -despite the fact that Jackie's not a bigger-picture kind of girl- she's been wondering about that for the longest time.

"I'm not."

"But, what if you aren't? What happens then?"

"I don't know."

The world definitely feels like it's made of glass, and the sharp edges are digging into Jackie's skin.

"You don't know?"

"You don't either. All I know… is that I'm willing to risk it. For you. Always, for you."

"What makes you think I'm worth the risk?"

He smiled then, a shit-eating grin. "I can tell."

She remembered saying that, but it feels like forever since that night -when she felt on top of the whole world, at least for a minute.

"I'm not you know. Nobody is. People are…. People are unreliable, you just never know what they're going to do."

"Good thing I'm not people."


End file.
